I once had a friend who was motoring mad
And spent all his time at the wheel,
At home in a boat or a high powered motor
His nerves were as hardened as steel.
'A short time ago I discovered'said he
'The secret of how we can fly'
So to give us a proof he pushed off from a roof
In an aeroplane bound for the sky.
Well to cut a long story short,
His secret he never would sell,
But it cost me a sovereign to buy him a wreath
So perhaps it is just as well.

A lady was telling her dear little son
How different dresses were made,
She tried to explain again and again
As the closest attention he paid,
'Now all of the silk in this beautiful dress
Although it's so strong and so firm
Each tiny thread – at least so it's said
Is supplied by a poor little worm.'
Well to cut a long story short
The kiddie at first was perplexed,
At last he said 'I know – it's Daddy you mean'
No wonder the man was vexed.

I went in a skating rink once with a friend
And noticed a man going round
At a terrible pace with his hand to his face
And eyes fixed on to the ground.
The manager stopped him and said, 'What's wrong?'
'I've just lost some toffee' said he:
He made a great fuss and started to cuss
Which seemed rather silly to me.
Well to cut a long story short
The manager said 'That's all right.'
But the stranger replied 'I must find it soon
For my false teeth are sticking there tight.'

A friend of mine went out to dinner one night
And ordered a lobster for one,
But said when it came, 'This must have been lame,
See – one of its claws is gone.'
The waiter replied 'I've just spent an hour
Downstairs – a-putting things right.
I call it a shame but them lobsters is game,
All day they've done nothing but fight.'
Well to cut a long story short,
My friend said 'I want a good dinner,
So please take this lobster straight back to the chef
And ask him to give you a winner.'

It's a wonderful thing in this wonderful world
How characteristics tell,
Each nation possesses its different dresses
And different habits as well.
For instance the Yankees, at least so they say
Are good 'uns at telling the tale,
The Frenchman is witty, the Portuguese pretty,
(Don't think I allude to the male)
Well to cut a long story short,
Did you hear of a Scotchman named Bill,
Who once gave a shilling too much for his cab,
You haven't? No you never will.

Now Fashion's a thing that we always run down
Yet everyone by it is led,
And I'm ready to state, if you're not up-to-date
In some things you're practically dead.
The latest idea, so fashion-books say
Is to match all your clothes to your hair,
What I mean to say, if your hair is grey
Then grey is the shade you must wear.
Well to cut a long story short,
Though natural dress it is called,
It would be rather awkward for some I'm afraid,
For instance for father, he's bald.